


Romancing the War God

by redradioflyer



Series: Holy War AU [2]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: F/M, Gods, M/M, Mutual Pining, Sequel, miscommunications
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-15
Updated: 2018-12-15
Packaged: 2019-09-19 12:03:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17001318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redradioflyer/pseuds/redradioflyer
Summary: sequel to Holy War. Alfred tries learning his new trade with the shy hermit God of Death and the God of War. Alfred, terrified as he is, has to learn to work with ghosts, and Cyril really needs to learn to share. All's fair in Love and War, but someone really should tell the War God that before he gets a little too jealous of Alfred's new friendship with Kiku...





	1. Guidance

“We’re going to your first job,” Kiku tells Alfred quietly. “I’ve taught you how to use your powers and how to travel to different parts of the Underworld with just a thought. Today though… Today we’re going to work with your first ghost.”

Alfred dithers in front of Kiku and looks a bit embarrassed. They are both equally aware of how frightening Alfred finds ghosts. “So that’s why you had me wear my full regalia…”

“Precisely. You’ll have to appear as your godly form for this,” Kiku replies. “Still it doesn’t mean… It doesn’t mean that they’ll see you properly.”

This bit of information makes him pause and he looks into Kiku’s face. “What d’ya mean? Not see me properly?”

Kiku walks to the window that looks out over his strange stone garden, and he considers his words for a moment. Alfred comes to stand near him and look out as well, and Kiku’s cheeks turn faintly pink. Although Kiku is getting used to having Alfred around, he still gets embarrassed, because apparently he doesn’t tend to keep too much company. The people that he interacts with are either already dead or they’re gods who come to his home to visit him.

Since most gods don’t really consider the Underworld a cheery place to make house calls, there are very few visitors that Kiku gets with any regularity.

Finally, Kiku says, “Humans have some thoughts about the after life, and they expect certain things… Sometimes they see people who died before them coming to help them on, and sometimes they see living people who gave them the most comfort in life.  Death, as you know, is frightening, and after they die, they see things that they expect to see or things that are familiar in the strange and unexplainable. Human souls are strong- which is why they can withstand being bound to a new physical form every cycle- but their minds are more fragile.”

“That’s why we have to wipe their memories before we send them back up right?”

Kiku looks up at him and gives him the indulgent smile of a teacher when their pupil manages to put something together on their own. “Exactly. So whatever they say to you, I want you to go along with it. If they see you for what you are, introduce yourself… but if they don’t, just listen to them and respond to them. Let them guide the exchange and ease them down to the Underworld. I showed you the place to bring heroes right?”

“You did…” Alfred takes a long slow breath as he tries to calm himself down. “But how… how will I know what to say?”

“You will,” Kiku replies, but he smiles a little again. The quiet god had told him more than once that he’s bad at reading the atmosphere, so the worry is one that Alfred thinks is well founded. “Your powers will help you understand the spirit better. Also one last thing… this isn’t just a job where you carry the spirits away to the Underworld. You have to soothe them. Humans have love and passion and ties to the world. Sometimes you have to take that burden from them to send them on. Otherwise, they’ll be tied to the world and become those angry restless spirits that you used to see on the battlefields.”

Alfred nods. “Alright. Well, let’s get started. I’ll never learn if I don’t try.”

—

In a tired run down area of the slums, Alfred carefully makes his way through a crowd. There in front of a ramshackle house, a little boy pushes at the body of a woman. She’s unmoving and quiet, no breath stirring her chest. The boy cries, and a man- expression strained and posture stiff- looks on behind him. The man looks as though he’s hurting but too tired to even grieve at the scene in front of him.

There are others, poor peasants as well, trying to pull the boy away from the body.

“Disease comes with death,” one person says.

“We have to take care of the body,” another says.  

“See your uncle is here- go with him," still another says.

But the boy doesn’t listen. The boy sobs and clings to the body, not yet old enough to understand death.

The scene is chaotic, but this isn’t what Alfred’s eyes are drawn to. He sees this child’s mother standing over her own corpse, and though she is translucent, she seems human in every other respect.

“She’s nothing like the dead in the Underworld,” Alfred says, fears abating a bit. This is a sad woman in pain, and he wants to help her. 

“Newly dead. They’re more human still- they haven’t seen the other aching souls of the afterlife yet, and they haven’t toiled with their memories as they make their way up to be reincarnated.”

Alfred nods, and then Kiku lightly touches his arm.

“Go on now, and do your job. She died of malnutrition and hunger, falling ill after giving her son the best of the food she could get. Go and soothe her.”

So Alfred strides forward, and the ghost woman looks up at him. Her face, glum and tear stained, lights up, and she comes forward to embrace Alfred, burying her face against his chest.

“Father!” she says. “Oh Father you’re here. I knew I’d see you again in the next life.”

Without hesitating, Alfred embraces her, and he strokes her hair. He finds he does know exactly what to say. “Of course, my darling, I told you, didn’t I? That you’d see me again.”

She must hear her father’s voice instead of Alfred’s because she begins to cry. “I could barely remember what you sounded like anymore, and now you’re here…” She cries against his chest for a moment before she pulls back to look up at him, then back at her body and her child. “Which means… I really am dead. I… I thought so.”

Alfred cups her cheek, turning her face away from the scene going on now. They haven’t quite gotten the boy away from the body, and the child is trying to fend them off. The man who’d been watching- the boy’s uncle, Alfred realized now- is trying to calm the boy down and pick him up.

“You have to come with me. There’s nothing left for you here.” Alfred smiles, and perhaps because the woman sees her father in him, she doesn’t take this news so badly as he thinks most would.

“But he needs me, he needs me.” She tries to return to her son then, pulling free from Alfred’s arms.

“He’ll be alright,” Alfred says as he takes hold of her arm. “See? Safe in his family’s arms.”

The tired worn old uncle strokes the sobbing child’s hair, and Alfred can see that he loves this boy as much as he loved his sister. This woman is aching for her son, and Alfred can feel it so acutely that he wants to cry with her. Still… he knows he must be firm. If he let her have her way, she might end up as an apparition tormenting the very people that she loved in life.

“Safe,” the woman repeats. “Safe…”

“Now you must come. If you don’t, you’ll become a wraith or a specter, haunting and terrorizing them. You have died honorably, my daughter, and you shouldn’t lessen the honor of your sacrifice that way.”

She hesitates for a moment, perhaps taking one long last look of her son and her brother. Then she nods, determination in her face as she turns to look at him again. “Alright, alright, I’ll… I’ll come. I don’t want to be a wraith… I could hurt them.”

Alfred smiles in approval, and as he turns to lead her away, he sees it. Kiku, who had been standing off to his side watching, notices it as well. A warm ball of light in the center of the ghost’s chest. Alfred raises his hand just a bit and that warmth, that light, comes out as a perfectly round ball to rest in his palm. The ghost never sees it, but her step becomes lighter, her expression more peaceful.

Inside this small swirling ball of color and light, Alfred can feel it- the woman’s love, her connections, her strongest feelings. She knows by going on to the next life she’d be giving these things up. Alfred is sure in the pit of his stomach that once she’s in the Underworld that she’ll eventually become just as tormented and sad about her lost life as any of the others. But like all the ghosts before her, to pass into the Underworld properly she had to give up her strongest feelings and her connections to the world.

Perhaps that’s why the ghosts in the Underworld are so pitiful. They are stuck replaying old memories as they walk through the land of the dead without the emotional connections they used to have. 

Alfred steadies her, and he thinks of the plain that he’s supposed to bring his ghosts. Then suddenly they’re there- Alfred, the ghostly mother, and Kiku. The woman looks around and frowns.

“This is the Underworld…”

“It is…” He looks down. “Check your pouch. You should have coins now, for the ferry. It’s just ahead. Then you can start towards reincarnation.”

The woman frowns for the first time. “Shouldn’t you have been reincarnated too?”

“I will soon,” Alfred lies smoothly, all the words that she needed from her father coming into his head as though the man himself is whispering them into his ear. “I promised you that I’d see you, and now I’ve fulfilled that. It’s my time, my time go to on to my next life.”

“Father,” she cries. “You didn’t have to wait for me… in such a place as this…!”

She gestures around the bare stone wall with distress.

“I wanted to see you again,” he replies simply. “Before my memories of my life are gone for my reincarnation.”

The woman nods, and as Alfred takes a step back, he starts to fade from her vision. He’s still standing there, but he knows that to her, he seems to be fading. Kiku had taught him how to shield himself from the ghosts when he needed to. A helpful tip, indeed, even if it doesn't make the ghosts less scary.

“Have a happy life, Father,” she says, reaching out. “Go in peace.”

“And you,” Alfred replies. “May your next life be happy.”

Then he blocks himself from her view, and her shoulders slump. “Goodbye…” she murmurs, and then she turns toward the path and begins to walk down toward the river of the Underworld.

Alfred’s heart breaks for her, because he knows this journey won’t be an easy one. Her death meant she wouldn’t spend so much time languishing in the afterlife, and Alfred is relieved about that much at least. But this orb, this shard of this woman’s life and her love that she gave up to move on…

“What do I do with this…?”

“It depends,” Kiku says softly, looking off toward the river. “You can put them there in the river… let the wash away down the flow…” The world around them shifts and they’re standing in one of Kiku’s sitting rooms. “But there’s another option.”

Throwing her feelings into that water to wash them away seems to Alfred almost disrespectful to her sacrifice and to her family. So he asks, “And the second option…?”

“Take them back to her family. Tonight or tomorrow or some day soon when they’re in their home mourning or sitting up to do the proper observances, bring that warmth to them. They may not see you or the orb there, but they’ll feel it.”

Alfred looks down at the orb, and he arches a brow. “That’s… that’s not  actually your job is it? You don’t have to do that, do you?”

Kiku turns red, and he moves to sit down on a cushion on his floor. “I admit that I don’t. But I do it when I can. The reapers I send out to the human realm to guide souls, I send them back out with the energy as well. It seems the best to do.”

The reapers are scarier than the ghosts almost, dark shadow-like pieces of Kiku’s power that go out and do his bidding. There’s no mind in them and no awareness. They are only projections, and perhaps that unfeeling look and the ghost-like appearance of them combined makes them especially startling. 

“Wow,” Alfred says, coming close to flop down next to him. “You really are a good guy huh?” Alfred pulls him into a sideways hug, and he laughs when Kiku gets embarrassed. “This is why people sometimes feel like their loved one is there with them after they die isn’t it? I always thought it was just a… I dunno… A hopeful way we feel in the midst of loss.”

“A bit of both probably,” Kiku says honestly, but he flushes a little.

Then Alfred arches a brow. “And when I lost my parents… when me and Mattie thought that we could feel them there with us…”

Kiku takes a breath. For a long moment he’s quiet then finally, quietly, he admits, “Many years ago, I sent two young brothers who’d lost their family the feelings of warmth and love that their parents left behind. Perhaps," Kiku shrugs, almost self-consciously. "Perhaps, you were one of those two boys.”

Then Alfred drags Kiku into another hug, a better one with both arms wrapped around him.

“Thanks Kiku,” Alfred says with sincere emotion in his voice. There are truly no words for him to use just now that can fully communicate his feelings, so he just says again, more fiercely this time. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome…” Kiku murmurs, too embarrassed really to hug back, but he pats his arm in a consoling way. 

—

Cyril finds Alfred sitting on a hill near the training field looking up at the stars that evening. He knows from Kiku that they had went on Alfred’s first mission to help a soul to the next world. As a God of War, Cyril has seen a lot of death, but he’s gotten used to his role in it. Alfred had been exposed to death on Earth, but this is different. Actively being part of the process meant that he’d see and empathize with these people even though they are at the end of their lives. There isn’t anything that he could do about their deaths, and that would be frustrating to Alfred.

Cyril intends to be there to help him through it.

Honestly, for the past few weeks, Cyril has been there for Alfred rather a lot. Training him, showing him around, teaching him how to control his powers. All in all, really, Alfred had been doing pretty well. People tend to like Alfred, and the man has no shortage of friends. Sure, some of them teased him and quarreled with him, but that is its own kind of friendship. Today, Cyril would be giving him his own brand of teasing support, and he’s glad to find him alone.

“You’re looking particularly glum today, little hawk,” Cyril says as he sits down next to him. “Heard you started your Death duties today.”

Usually, just the nickname would have Alfred rousing to fight with him, but today it only inspires a half hearted glare. Then Alfred pats the ground beside him, indicating for him to sit down. Cyril is not the kind to say no to an invitation like that, especially not one from Alfred.

“I did,” he finally answers as Cyril sits next to him. “It was both not as bad as I thought… but also worse?? Does that make sense?”

“Uh, maybe… but you might need to elaborate.”

With a great sigh, Alfred glances over at him, and then he does something a bit surprising- he falls over against Cyril’s side and leans on him. They had been in the same home for a few weeks now, and though Cyril can tell Alfred is interested in him, they haven’t really had a lot of physical affection beyond horseplay.

Embarrassingly enough, Cyril actually blushes at the casual touch, and he can feel Alfred’s power now, bolstering his own. Alfred has dual aspects, and the part of him that looks after war heroes makes Cyril’s power surge. The part of Alfred that is heroism for all types of people… that excites him in a different way. A power not under his jurisdiction but one that stirs him all the same…Cyril thinks he finally truly understands how  Alfred had felt as a human warrior feeling the power of the War God. After a moment of just basking in that strength, he pats Alfred’s head. They stay that way for a little while.

“I always thought that gods, you know, must understand the secrets of the universe… like divinity must make it easier to deal with cause you know where everything is heading, how it works,” Alfred finally says. “But I don’t feel that way. I know that the ghost I helped will go through the cycle, end up reincarnated. I know that… but her life now, her memories, her feelings… that stuff won’t last.”

There’s another long pause after this, as they both sit and think. Finally Cyril replies, “Her legacy is still there though right? She saved someone, if you were there to get her. She left her mark on the people that were important and now she gets to have another turn at it. Time keeps going, Alfred, and sure, humans individually fade as time goes on… but by then, ideally, they’re already living a new life, making new marks.”

“Huh…” Alfred says softly. “I suppose that’s true…” He sits up again, making Cyril pout at the loss of contact. After a moment of looking into Cyril’s face, he pulls out an orb of roiling colors.

Of course, Cyril has never seen such a thing, but he can feel the emotions in it. It’s easy for him to intuit what it is. “Her Earthly ties and feelings,” he says, arching a brow. “Are you supposed to keep that?”

“No, no,” he says quickly. “I’m going to bring it back to her son tonight… I was wondering…”

“Wondering what…?”

“If…. Well if after dinner you’d come with me? Her son must still be grieving and I don’t want to see that all alone.” Alfred looks away from him, blushing darkly. “I mean, I’m sure I’ll get used to it, but this is the first time so…”

Ah, such a sweet, gentle-hearted man. Alfred, even in his divinity, draws strength from his comrades and the people around him. Cyril replies, uncharacteristically gentle, “Of course I’ll go with you. Let’s go in and eat first, and then I’ll go down to Earth with you.”

Alfred offers him that golden boy smile that always makes Cyril’s heart skip a beat. In response, Cyril throws his arm around his shoulders, and he leads him toward the building. “Let me tell you—if you keep smiling that way, I won’t be able to keep my hands to myself.~”

“Ugh!” Alfred turns pink and pushes at his side. “You’re such a perv!”

They have a bit of a playful scuffle, but even just this small amount of teasing seems to lift Alfred’s spirits some. They squabble on their way to the house, and they eat with the other servants and warriors in Cyril’s house.

—

Only one house has lights still burning, and Alfred is sure that’s where the woman’s family are doing their services for the deceased. It’s similar to the shack that the mother had died in front of, but it’s not hers. The uncle’s perhaps? Regardless, Alfred can feel the services somehow, and he figures that comes from his connection to Kiku.

He hesitates on the street, looking at the door to the house. There is sorrow here, and Alfred will have to see it. 

“You can do this,” Cyril says, laying a hand on Alfred’s shoulder.

“I’ve always hated seeing people cry…” Alfred says softly. “It makes me want to help them.”

“And you will be. Bringing this to them will be a comfort.”

Alfred nods, and he enters the home. There’s only a handful of people in the front of the house, but none of them notice him at all. They are all in various stages of grief, but by far the worst among them is the small orphan boy sitting in the corner with his knees pulled up to his chest. Alfred’s heart aches for them all, and he approaches the little boy. When Alfred gets close, the child jumps in surprise.

It takes Alfred a second to realize, but the child can see him. Sometimes, Kiku had told him, children can see through the curtain of magic that hides the gods. Strange though, that the child hadn’t seen him on the street before…

Then he realizes that the boy is staring not so much at Alfred but at the swirling orb of color in his hand.

“Mommy,” the child breaths softly. “You’re here…”

“Not Mommy,” Alfred says as he leans down to him. “But I bring her love for you back.”

The child blinks a few times as he tries to process Alfred in front of him. Tears are sliding down his cheeks again. He glances back at the others, and he whispers, “Are you the Death God…? They said that he's the one that comes to take the dead away to the next life.”

Alfred shakes his head, and from the way the boy’s face scrunches up, it’s clear that he’s having trouble focusing on keeping Alfred in view.  Perhaps this was something else then- not a child with some ability but a child who had been close enough to the death to feel this orb in his hand. To help him- since the boy already sees- Alfred pushes the veil back just a bit.

“I’m the God of Heroes,” Alfred says softly. “And your mother was a hero.”

The little boy’s eyes go round and large, and he glances down at the gruesome wound in his chest. Then he glances back at the adults on the other side of the room, none of whom seem to notice. Still, the boy’s voice is low. “And you… you’re a hero? Just like my Mommy. So she’s safe now? She’s not hungry or tired anymore?”

“No, not hungry or tired,” Alfred says back. “Just worried about you. So she sent this to you.” He holds out the orb, and the child tries to touch it the outside edge just melts away. The swirling colors leak out like smoke into the room, and though Alfred can’t feel the emotions anymore, he can tell by the boy’s face that he does.

Love, warmth, affection, protectiveness- an essence all the child’s mother. The adults in the room suddenly sit up straight, and look around them. They feel it too, though they can’t see Alfred or his gift.

The child smiles radiantly then. “Thank you,” the boy tells him softly. “For bringing me this gift.”

The veil between the human realm and the spiritual one is sliding into place again, and the boy can’t see him anymore. That’s alright because, like the adults in the room, he’s experiencing that strange unexplainable warmth that the dead woman is with them and trying to comfort them.

He takes several steps back, and for a moment he just stands and watches the people in the room react. There are tears, yes, but he feels a sense of serenity in them. Perhaps this has helped them somehow, and in whatever small way Alfred could, he’s brought them joy in a hard time.

“I think you just got your first follower,” Cyril says as the child looks toward them. The boy couldn’t see Alfred anymore now that the orb was gone, but perhaps he could feel him there.

“I don’t think so. I think he's still basking.”

“Uh-huh,” Cyril replies. “Just basking. Not even a little impressed with the god that brought his family a gift.”

Alfred shakes his head. “That can come later. For now he’s still just happy to have a bit of his mother back.” Alfred knows what it’s like to lose a mother, and his heart aches for the boy. Still, he’s also sure he’ll be okay. 

So he turns and exits the house to give this grieving family a bit of privacy again. Cyril follows close at his heels, surely gearing up to tease him, but Alfred doesn’t mind now. He feels a lot lighter than he did before. Seeing the tears was as hard as it ever is, but being able to give even the smallest amount of comfort… it was worth it.

Having Cyril there had given him the courage to do it, and Alfred was thankful that he’d come. Still, it is Cyril, and if he's too gracious, the man would get a big head. “Thanks for coming. Really helped me out,” is what Alfred says, simply and a bit gruffly.

Cyril doesn’t look the least bit offended by the gruffness. In fact, he smirks. “You’re welcome~ Honestly though, taking time out of my busy busy schedule, I think I deserve a reward.

“A reward?” Alfred says, giving him an arch expression. “Just what kind of reward?”

Instead of getting a reply, Alfred instead finds him pressed against the wall of a house. Cyril is close to him now, looking up into his eyes and cupping his cheek. As always, Alfred can feel the power from him, and his breath catches. The man’s expression is teasing and amused, and Alfred thinks that perhaps Cyril, in his own weird way, is trying to lighten his mood. 

“I was thinking of a kiss,” Cyril says, pressing him back and holding him there. “If you don’t mind.” He winks and adds, “You look lovely in the moonlight~" 

“And here I thought you just wanted to help!” Alfred says, expression embarrassed and miffed. “You’re a perverted opportunistic jerk.”

“And that wasn’t a no~” Cyril leans in again, almost kissing him but not quite. He seems to be waiting for Alfred to punch him and shove him away. 

Alfred arches a brow and considers for a second to do just that. But honestly? Actually kissing him would be much better comeback. So Alfred surges forward and kisses his lips passionately… for just the briefest moment. Calling on his powers to dissolve into the air, Alfred laughs as he appears in his room in Heaven. His lips are still tingling with the kiss, and he’s flustered to have kissed- however briefly- in the street that way.

But he also has the satisfaction of knowing that he’s pulled one over on Cyril.

Indeed, down on Earth in a quiet slum, Cyril is standing absolutely frozen in the street, cheeks blazing red, and cursing all the gods he can think of for having the ability to shift that way. It isn’t all bad though- he’s beginning to suspect that his little hawk is more interested in him than he first anticipated but is simply playing hard to get. 


	2. Who's Tommy?

Cyril had hoped that once Alfred had adjusted to his new job as attendant of the Underworld that he’d end up seeing the god much more often. In fact, he doesn’t see him nearly as much as he thinks he should. To make things worse, it sounds like he goes to the Underworld pretty frequently now just to hang out with Kiku.

When Cyril had asked him about it, Alfred had just shrugged and looked a bit sheepish. ‘ _He’s a lonely guy,’_ Alfred had said. ‘ _Makes me want to give him some company._ ’ That’s all well and good for Kiku, but Cyril is sure he’s much better company than Death. Of course, Cyril has no issues with Kiku. He’s stuffy and serious and more than a little bit of a recluse, but he seems like a decent enough companion as far as things go. Cyril doesn’t really like sharing though, and now that the initial relief of having Alfred back and safe has faded, the gratitude has lessened a bit as well.

Well, not lessened, per se, but it has definitely been dampened by jealousy.

This is why it’s such bad timing that Anya shows up at just that moment to interrupt his brooding. Or perhaps it’s intentionally badly timed. Anya seems the type to do that kind of thing, but honestly, Cyril is partially glad for it. It gives him an excuse to be in an even worse mood.

“Why so angry, War God?” Anya asks, coming to the side of his chair. “I thought you’d be happier now that you had what you wanted.”

“I’m plenty happy,” Cyril grumbles at her. “I’d be happier if you didn’t invite yourself into my office.”

“I have official business~” she says. Then she smiles in that too sweet way that always makes Cyril feel like he’s being laughed at. “Arguably official business anyway. I wanted to ask after our new god. How is he settling in?”

“He’s fine. Doing great. He’s even gotten used to the whole ghost thing. Report finished.” Determined to stay in a mood, Cyril moves away from her to sit in the far corner of the room and stare out the window. It quickly turns into staring at his own reflection in the glass, and it only makes his frown deepen.

“Oh yes,” Anya says, tone conversational despite how rude and brusque Cyril is being. “I’ve heard he’s been spending a lot of time down with Kiku. Alfred does seem to like cute men~”

The jibe is an easy one, but it riles Cyril none the less. “What would you know about what Alfred likes? Why are you here? You just wanna cause trouble.”

Anya shrugs and stands. “I administered his test. I have some ideas about what he likes…” She shakes her head. “But if you say he’s alright, and he’s adjusting, then that’s all I need to hear~”

It’s almost like cold water being poured down his back. Cyril hadn’t thought about the trial she’d put him through in a while, but at her reminder, he’s tensing and sitting up straighter. ‘ _And Tommy?’_ Cyril remembers him saying. Alfred’s face had been flushed red, and he was asking after a man that he’d met during his trial. “You!” Cyril says as he turns. “You tempted him with a man…!”

But Anya is gone now, and he knows she wouldn’t have told him anything about the trial even if she’d stayed. He frowns and he punches the window frame, delighting in the sound of it splintering beneath his fist.

He’ll get to the bottom of this, and that means asking Alfred himself.

—

“And where have you been?” Amelia asks, stretched out across a couch in Anya’s part of the Heavenly Palace.

“I have a feeling you know, if you’re here asking.” Anya’s voice is placid, but there’s a spark in the room, a challenging aura as they talk. It’s not unusual for them though, and neither of them are truly irritated.

“You’re stirring up Cyril. It’s a little unfair of you- they’re finding an equilibrium. Kiku and Alfred and Cyril. You’re trying to upset that so you can see what happens.” Amelia sits up, frowning at her and crossing her arms.

“And how do you know so much about it? Might it have something to do with your frequent visits to the Underworld?” Anya smiles, and she moves to prepare tea. “I have heard rumors about it you know.”

“Oh, that’s hardly a secret, Anya,” Amelia says back, tone rather smug in fact, and she stands to come over to Anya’s side. “I’ve been going there pretty often to see Kiku, and I always come back  _well satisfied._  Don’t be jealous about that.”

Anya turns to offer her a cup of tea, expression one of fake sweetness. “I’m not jealous Amelia. I just wonder if Kiku is nearly as satisfied as you are?”

Though Amelia bristles, she takes the tea from her. “He’s plenty satisfied! But hey! Don’t change the subject. Why are you stirring them up? Messing with Cyril is like kicking a hornet’s nest.”

“I like hornets,” Anya says mildly. There’s a moment of quiet as she sits down in a plush chair, and Amelia thinks she’s going to avoid the conversation entirely. Finally, though, she says, “I suppose it’s just a matter of curiosity. We both saw Alfred’s test to get into Heaven, and we saw how he was tempted. It’s… anticlimactic to have them skirting around the whole thing. It’s more interesting when they’re being passionate and worked up. Don’t you agree?”

Amelia sips her tea, and she concedes the point. “I guess that’s true. It’s funny when they argue and blush and carry on. Are you sure interfering will make the show any more interesting though?”

“Not sure no,” Anya admits, starting to smile in a naughty way. “But it’s fun to see Cyril in such a state over someone so young and new.”

For a long moment, they’re both quiet, and Amelia thinks things over. “Well,” she says, her tone becoming a bit hushed. “If Cyril and Alfred do start becoming more romantic, maybe Alfred will be in the Underworld less. That’d be wonderful because last week he walked in on me and Kiku together, and Kiku was so embarrassed he wouldn’t even let me kiss him for days.”

Anya sits up a bit straighter, brows coming up. As much as these two argued and got at each other’s throats, they do have one thing in common- they both **love** gossiping. When they could manage to keep from fighting, they are gossiping instead. Amelia likes to hear about all the scandalous details of other people’s personal lives, and Anya simply likes having all the dirt she could. It is something they agree is fun though, and at this point in their long lives, no one knows as many of Amelia’s secrets as Anya. Likewise, no one knows Anya’s secrets quite like Amelia. (Besides Bela, of course, but that's true for most people.)

For Amelia and Anya at this point, it's a sort of mutually assured destruction if either of them start spreading the more private material that they’ve shared with each other. It would probably amuse the other immortals to know that Amelia and Anya do, in fact, confide in each other, but after all this time together, they’ve become close despite their rivalry.

So they settle in to not only discuss Amelia’s recent ‘encounter’ with Kiku but also just who Marianne has been sneaking off to see and which one of the younger gods have been frequenting the barracks of the Heavenly Army.

—

Kiku is sitting and looking out over his rock garden, and Alfred is at his side, babbling happily about the different gods that he’d met in Heaven so far. Kiku’s two most frequent guests are both rather energetic, and while he has to admit that he enjoys their company, he does miss having his space to himself sometimes. Right now with Alfred rambling on, he doesn’t mind it too much, and he’s happy to hear what the excitable god has to say about the world. While Alfred’s company can sometimes be tiring, talking with him is rather relaxing.

Conversing with Alfred doesn’t always require a lot of responses, and while that might annoy other gods, Kiku likes it rather a lot. It took a lot of pressure off of him, and he could add his own thoughts and observations only when he feels the urge to do so. It's refreshing to have someone to talk to that doesn't make Kiku feel a bit embarrassed and self-conscious. He often feels out-of-place when he visits the Heavenly Kingdom, like he's some sort of curiosity. As a reclusive Lord of Death there are more than a few wild rumors about him in the upper worlds so perhaps he shouldn’t be surprised. With Alfred, at least, Kiku hears none of these rumors, and indeed Alfred himself probably doesn't even know them. Alfred hadn’t cared much about gods when he was human, and in the short time that Kiku has known him, Alfred has rarely brought anything that might be considered gossip into their conversations.

Amelia, on the other hand, is a different story, and sometimes Kiku wonders if his vibrant lady caller had started coming because of the rumors that she’d heard. This doesn’t offend him, and indeed he’d found it rather amusing that he was considered a dangerous or exciting man by her standards. It helps, perhaps, that Amelia had genuinely become attached to him and now cares about him rather deeply. That's something that he never could have expected but something he’s thankful for none the less.

It makes for an interesting turn of events- the goddess who made the sun and stars to light the sky offering love and company to the Death God living in the darkest place on Earth.

Lost as he is in his own thoughts, Kiku realizes rather suddenly that he’s completely tuned out Alfred’s rambling and that now there are wide blue eyes focused on him.

“Oh, my apologies,” Kiku says with a little nod of his head. “I got distracted- there’s rocks out of place in my garden and I was thinking I needed to tend to that soon. What were you saying?”

Thankfully, Alfred doesn’t look offended, and he just pushes Kiku’s shoulder. “You zone out a lot, did you know that? Lost in your own little world.”

Kiku frowns, cheeks turning pink. “I don’t.” He pushes Alfred’s hands away, and he wonders, as he has before, if Alfred will care about him in the way that Amelia does. Of course, he knows that first Alfred must work out his strange relationship with Cyril.

Even when he does though, Kiku also knows that the life of a god is long, and he expects that both of them will likely take many lovers in the future regardless of how their relationship is. Few gods achieve anything like a steady monogamy forever. Not for lack of feeling, of course, but rather the need to have new experiences. Kiku isn’t really against this, and in fact, he finds that he appreciates both of the gods that he’d been working with. If either of them are ever so inclined, Kiku wouldn't hesitate to invite them into his private rooms.

Though, when he feels rage and energy behind him, Kiku decides he isn't a fan of the current drama. Without turning, he can tell that Cyril has just materialized behind them, and he feels that the War God isn’t pleased.

“I thought we were going to train today Alfred,” Cyril says, voice low and angry. “Instead I find you here messing around.”

As expected, Alfred doesn’t sense the mood. He turns with a bright happy expression already on his face, and Kiku has to suppress a smile of his own- Alfred is rarely more energetic than he is when Cyril is around.

“Oh sorry! I got distracted with Kiku. We were talking!”

Alfred jumps to his feet, and Kiku follows suit, albeit at a slower pace. He gives Cyril a little bow and asks, “Would you like tea?”

“No thanks,” Cyril says, the expression on his face rather stormy.

Kiku smiles in an appeasing way, and Alfred takes a step toward Cyril.

“It’s pretty good! You can sit and relax a bit before—“

But he’s cut off by Cyril taking hold of his arm. “No, we’re going.”

Then, they’re both gone. Kiku sighs softly and shakes his head, bringing a hand up to rub his temples as though he might end up with a migraine just from dealing with those two. Admittedly, he does smile a little as he heads out to fix his garden. Perhaps they would work things out between them at last.

—

“Ow hey! What’s your problem??” Alfred asks as they are suddenly standing in Cyril’s office. “There was no reason to be rude. I said sorry!” Alfred blinks around the room and realizes that he’s not on the training field like he expected. “I thought we were training...?”

“We need to talk first,” Cyril says, and he moves to sit on the edge of his desk, staring across the room at him. 

Alfred finally starts to realize just how irritated Cyril is, and it makes him angry as well. He crosses his arms over his chest and he arches a brow. “And what exactly do we need to talk about so urgently?”

Without preamble, Cyril asks sharply, “Do you like him?”

“Kiku? I like him pretty well. He’s nice..?” Alfred isn’t sure he understands why he’s so worked up about a question like that, and Cyril must sense his confusion.

“No, no I mean. Are you  _interested_ in him?” His frown becomes a scowl. “Have you fucked him?”

It’s only when he spits that question out that Alfred understands what he means. Anger forgotten, Alfred stares at Cyril with a flabbergasted expression. “What?! No! He’s with Amelia! I’ve never even thought… I mean, he’s cute or whatever but no…” He trails off and reaches up to rub at his face, hating how hot his cheeks feel.  “Gods, you’re weird.”

Apparently Cyril can see the honesty in his reaction, and though he does look a bit more relaxed, he isn’t happy either. He takes several steps forward, and though Alfred is nervous by his proximity, he doesn’t back down. “Then tell me…” Cyril says softly and locks eyes with him, “who Tommy is.”

The name is a bit of a jolt- Alfred hadn’t thought about Tommy in a while. Why would he? He had seen through the fake and got to spend time with the original. Sure, Cyril is different from Tommy, but Alfred had picked Cyril for a reason. He takes a step back, his face and neck burning.

“O-oh, uh, that was just… just someone in my trial. That’s all.” Alfred can’t seem to tear his eyes from Cyril’s. Pinned in by the intensity of it, it’s all he can do to even get that much out. As close as he is, Alfred can feel power, anger, frustration all rolling off of him.

“Don’t give me that! He was important to you. They tempted you with him!” Cyril glares up at him.

The anger makes Alfred want to lash out right back at him, but the hurt in the other god’s face… it’s what stops him.

“It’s… It’s not what you think it is…” Alfred responds, voice quiet but firm. “It’s not what you think at all. You shouldn’t worry about it.”

Perhaps Alfred’s own control aids Cyril’s. Instead of becoming rougher or angrier, he just reaches up to twist his fingers into the front of Alfred’s tunic. “Listen, Alfred. If you like some other man, some other god, whatever. The world is big, time is endless, and I’ll get over it. But I don’t want to keep going on wondering about it. I’m not heartless. If you’re really truly set against me, I’ll stop… flirting, coming on to you, whatever.”

There’s something in his tone that breaks Alfred’s heart. Although they've been close recently, though they shared a fleeting kiss after his first mission on Earth, their relationship has stayed in a strange place. A dance around each other, not quite certain what the boundaries were with touching and interacting and flirting. Alfred has always known that Cyril is interested in him, but this is the first time he’s ever considered that the god wouldn’t be able to intuit Alfred’s own feelings.

It’s a startling realization for Alfred, because he is suddenly quite aware that the only reason he thought the other knew… is because he could hardly imagine not getting caught up in the War God’s gravity. Staring into Cyril’s intense expression has left Alfred frozen in place, unable to come up with words to express himself.

The silence stretches out a bit too long, and it becomes too much for Cyril. He looks disappointed, and he pushes Alfred back before turning to walk over to his desk. “You can go, Alfred,” he says then. “I won’t bother you anymore.”

With Cyril’s back turned, Alfred’s breath catches. He misses the closeness, but more than that, he realizes he let a crucial moment slip by him. Before he could hurt Cyril too much, he’d have to rectify that.

“He was you,” Alfred says quietly. He clears his throat and raises his voice a bit. “Tommy, he was you. He was softer and gentler, but he was you if you were human. That’s… that’s why I couldn’t tell you. It embarrassed me.”

Cyril turns to look at him then, and once he makes eye contact with Alfred, he freezes in place. Again, he must sense the honesty in his words, because his cheeks turn nearly as red as Alfred’s. “They tempted you… with me…?” he asks softly.

Alfred nods. This time, he’s the one to come close, to step up to Cyril. There’s vulnerability in the War God’s face, a strange expression he’s never seen. Alfred reaches him, backing him up against the desk. Cyril looks embarrassed, but there’s excitement in his eyes as well. It takes a moment of dithering before Alfred admits in a quiet voice, “Tommy, when he was tempting me to stay… He kissed me, and I…” 

There’s a brief flare of anger in Cyril’s eyes despite the fact they both know this person was never real. It makes Alfred laugh and gives him the boost of confidence that he needs to finish his thought.

“And when he pulled back, I expected to open my eyes to you. I wanted it to be you. When I saw someone else- someone with your face but not your expression or your attitude- I knew that place was fake.” He’s leaned in now, nose to nose with Cyril. For all of Alfred’s boldness, he pauses at Cyril’s lips, letting the other close the gap when and if he wanted to. There is wonder and uncertainty in Cyril’s expression, and it makes Alfred feel pretty self-satisfied.

Then he realizes that the only reason the other hasn’t kissed him is that he wants to hear more. With a grin and his breath on Cyril’s lips, Alfred says, “The only thing they could tempt me away from Heaven with was the chance at a life on Earth with you.”

At these words, Cyril makes a noise in the back of his throat, and the thin control that they had snaps. Cyril throws his arms around Alfred’s shoulders, and he kisses him with everything he has. In response, Alfred wraps his arms around his waist and presses close. This isn’t quite how Alfred imagined they’d share their first real deep kiss, but he doesn’t mind. More than that, he always thought that it’d be Cyril trapping him in and plundering his mouth.

Instead, Alfred is the one who ends up pushing Cyril down onto his desk and kissing him like the whole world depended on it. Cyril’s hands are on him- running his up his back, tangling in his hair, grabbing him closer. The god under him can’t quite seem to make up his mind on just what to do with his hands. As much as Alfred enjoys the touching, he also can’t help but think about the rejection, the hurt in Cyril’s eyes when he’d confronted him. He catches the god’s wrists, pushing his hands down against the desk. For a moment, he wants Cyril to focus only on his mouth and the warm weight of his body. He twines their fingers together, both hands locked together as Alfred kisses him eagerly.

Alfred wants him to understand that this is something that he’s wanted for a long time as well, and he puts his whole focus into communicating just how he feels. A lack of passion, though, has never been a problem for Alfred, and Cyril gets the message loud and clear.

—

It has been a long time since Cyril was as excited and happy as he is beneath Alfred. Honestly, he’s rarely ever let anyone pin him in that way and hold him down. With Alfred though, he doesn’t even question it, and he lets the other pin his wrists against the desk top. He can feel how hungry Alfred has been for this, and it surprises him. There’d been signs that Alfred was interested in him, but Cyril hadn’t quite expected this amount of eager passion.

Just as eager, Cyril continues to kiss him until he feels something warm on his chest. He knows immediately what it is, and he breaks from Alfred’s lips. Alfred hardly seems deterred and takes this as an invitation to kiss down along his jaw and neck.

Panting for breath and arching his hips toward Alfred’s, Cyril gasps out, “Alfred, Alfred time out. You’re bleeding on me.”

There’s a little jolt as Alfred pulls back to look down at himself. Alfred looks apprehensive for a second before he realizes it isn’t an actual wound- just the golden ichor pouring from his chest again. He turns red and he tries to focus on bringing his glamour back.

“Ruining the mood huh?” Cyril says, sitting up. Alfred is still standing between Cyril’s knees, so the War God wraps his legs around him to keep him close.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” Alfred replies, cheeks burning red now. “I get distracted and forget.”

The glamour to keep his wound hidden is one of the more difficult things about divinity that Alfred has dealt with. It’s a simple spell on a basic level, but it requires long term sustained effort that Alfred has trouble remembering. It amuses Cyril a lot because whenever Alfred got too worked up or distracted his chest would start bleeding. Cyril knows that eventually Alfred would be used to his new powers and that this would stop being a problem. That is precisely why Cyril intends to take advantage of the embarrassing mishaps now, while he still could. Especially since even now Alfred is still bleeding ichor from his chest and panicking- he’s too embarrassed to make his magic work and it’s just about the cutest thing Cyril has ever seen.

“You got so distracted by me you couldn’t even maintain a simple glamour, tsk tsk tsk.” Cyril is grinning and admiring Alfred’s embarrassed face. He’s sneaking his hands around and into Alfred’s clothes. “You must have it bad for me, little hawk.”

Alfred is only getting redder as one of Cyril’s hands starts up his back and the other is slipping down into his pants to grope his ass. This is only making it harder to focus on bringing his glamour back, and he pushes at Cyril’s chest.

“Hey hey I can’t do it with you touching me like that!”

Cyril simply grins and leans in to kiss at his jaw while his hands slide over Alfred’s skin. Alfred tries to focus on his magic, but all he does is lean in against Cyril, moaning softly and murmuring his name. Although Cyril likes how his name sounds on Alfred’s lips, this moment is definitely more for teasing him.

“You’re still bleeding,” Cyril says. “Can’t you focus?” He’s making it hard intentionally, and he could sit here and do this all day.  

But Alfred is easily embarrassed and he’s caught onto the game. He breaks free from his arms, face and ears bright red. His hand comes up to lightly touch the wet spot on his neck and jaw where Cyril’s mouth had just been.

“You’re a jerk!” he says, panting softly. He looks down at his chest, still pouring ichor, and makes a frustrated sound. Knowing that with Cyril teasing him and working him up that way, he’ll never get it to stop, and so he turns and hurries toward the door.

Cyril watches him go, smiling in what he’s sure is a rather smug way. His little hawk pauses at the door, hand on the knob. As he pauses, barely looking over his shoulder, Cyril gets the impression that he’s trying to work up the nerve to speak.

Finally, Alfred says in a quiet soft voice, “So, um, I am interested. In you, I mean. You know, since you asked.” He turns away again, but Cyril can see that even the back of his ears and neck are flushed.

“I kinda got that, golden boy. The declarations and the messy kisses on the desk gave it away,” Cyril says, but he smiles. For Alfred who is only ever really sure of things when they are put bluntly, it would make sense that he’d want to make sure his message got across. So Cyril, despite his amusement, adds, “Of course I’m interested in you as well. You have to know that.”

It’s a far cry from any sort of romantic declaration of their feelings, but for now, it would do them both just fine.  

The tension leaves Alfred’s shoulders, and Cyril smiles to himself. Ah, what a sweet man. Alfred just wants to be sure, and now that he is, Cyril can see that he’s more relaxed. 

When Alfred finally responds though, his voice is flippant and dismissive. “Of course I know that. How could I not with you being such a perv all the time?”

Cyril laughs, but Alfred is hurrying on before he can respond properly. As the door shuts behind him, Cyril is so full of ecstatic energy that he doesn’t know what to do with himself. It isn’t only that he’d succeeded- the pursuit of Alfred hadn’t been about success in a long time-, but that his favorite actually does care about him. And had cared about him far longer than the man himself wanted to admit. Really, that’s all Cyril needed to know- that Alfred really and truly wants and accepts Cyril’s affections. Now that he knows, Cyril is happier than he considered possible. 

A bounce in his step, Cyril heads down to the training field. He needs to work off all this excited energy somehow, and doing some mock fights with his comrades seems a good way to do it. Of course, Cyril is well aware of other ways to burn off that energy- something more private with Alfred in his bedroom- but he surprises himself with the realization that he doesn’t want that yet.

What had started for him as lust had become something rather different, and Cyril wants the excitement and romance to last. So, head still full of Alfred, Cyril chooses a spear from the training equipment and picks a fight with Elizaveta. The other immortal had been training some of her lieutenants, but she is more than willing to accept his challenge. Cyril spends most of the rest of the afternoon sparring with his followers, and all of them, he thinks, sense how great his mood is.

So the fights are energetic, playful, as they respond to their patron’s mood. Cyril doesn’t realize how much his followers understand about that mood until afterwards when they’re all heading to the dining hall together. One of men he’d been sparring with wolf whistles as Alfred enters the room, and one of Elizaveta’s right hand ladies calls out a ‘congratulations’ to him. The heavenly warriors laugh and move to tease and jostle Alfred.

Thankfully for Cyril, Alfred doesn’t understand what they’re implying at all, and he just waves them off and tells them to “stop being weird.” Alfred ends up at Elizaveta’s side for dinner, but he keeps sneaking glances over at Cyril.

Cyril smiles to himself and pretends not to notice. It had been a long while since the War God had found himself a love quite this sweet, and when he rises to leave the dining hall, he isn’t surprised when Alfred is falling into step with him. Cyril decides to lead them out to their favorite star gazing hill, because this is where they always have the best talks and conversations. Cyril wants that connection just now more than anything, and he settles into the grass for a bit of happy conversation and some laughs.

And yes, perhaps even kisses, if Alfred is feeling bold enough to steal them.


End file.
